


in the end, it's just the two of us

by rad_sad



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Slow Build, the deputy also has an abundance of kinks so watch out for that, the deputy is Sad and she joins a doomsday cult for that Dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-06
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-05-03 04:26:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14560839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rad_sad/pseuds/rad_sad
Summary: So, he comes to her in the middle of the night.And she does not turn him away.





	in the end, it's just the two of us

**Author's Note:**

> Expanded summary:  
> The Deputy has been captured and has been under the watchful eye and care of John for many, many months; the non-canon events referenced in this one shot are parts of a larger story surrounding and building up their relationship that i'll probably never get around to writing.
> 
> \---
> 
> \- All characters, locations and plot belong to their creator, Ubisoft, unless stated otherwise  
> \- Complete original dialogue  
> \- comments are very very much appreciated!

**i.**

He comes to her in the middle of the night.

She’s half asleep, drifting in and out in a series of dull, sharp aches from where the bullet had hit her and the uncomfortable awareness of how alone she feels. The blankets are pulled up to her nose, body tucked into a small ball on her good side, where the pain doesn’t explode. She had lost count of how many days she spent, healing, recovering, almost trapped. When Joseph had said she was a part of the family, a long-lost sister to him, maybe she should have asked if it meant being treated like a child. The guards outside her room aren’t meant to trap her, but to keep her safe.

Once, she might have laughed.

Now?

She isn’t sure who the real enemy is.

She can still see the shock, fear, disgust on Whitehorse’s face as she took the bite of the bullet, the two in a scuffle; her, trying to get the gun that was pointed at John out of his hand, him trying to push her back to the side of the Resistance and away from his target. It had been a complete, mere, accident. He growled at her, voice low and bitter, to get away, _and as her superior officer he ordered her to stand aside_ \- and she had  _refused_.

He hadn’t meant to do it, but she tugged too hard and –

 _Bang_.

It had taken them a moment to realise, to blink, silence fat from each side and every eye from the Resistance and Eden’s Gate watching, waiting. John had called her name, her  _name_ , but she couldn’t answer. The blood was choking her, spilling forth and her eyes found Earl’s. Her lips barely formed the word  _run_ , the last mercy she could give, before she stumbled back, leaves cracking and crunching and slurping up the blood that was rushing from her fingers and the pain was so overwhelming, monstrous. The gasp that left her was ragged and shattered, knees giving out as Earl, with confusion, anger,  _disgust_  in his eyes, turned tail and ran, yelling for the Resistance waiting in the shadows to fall back, knowing that he well and truly fucked up.

It was John who caught her, blue drowning with concern, fear, worry, and there were sounds of gunfire bursting in the air.

The parley had failed, and she was dying.

Maybe it had been another test to see who she would go to, and the laugh that left her was wet with blood as John shouted for  _Joseph, Jacob, anyone please, she’s dying_. There was a bitterness in her, a strange apathy that began to crumble away as John touched her cheek, her wound, holding her and trying to stop the blood,  _Oh, God, there’s so much blood_. It was then that the fear, the real, bone shattering fear, hit her and the choking began, because she didn’t want to die,  _please, I don’t want to die, John, I don’t want to die._

John was trying to calm her, whispering soft words she didn’t understand, and she wondered if this would be her funeral, her eulogy before she grabbed John’s shirt, the tears spilling, and she tried to tell him, she tried  _so_  badly, and he said her name,  _her name_ , before she passed out, falling away in waves of cold darkness and blood.

When she awoke it was in the early morning, feeling sore and bruised with groggy eyes. There was a bad taste in her mouth, tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth, and everything  _hurt_. The blankets covered her up to her waist, arms resting by her side, the window letting watery, golden sunlight leak in, little waves of the sun’s rays catching on dust moats.

“You’re awake, my child.”

It was Joseph, his voice soft, as always, and she barely had enough energy to turn, eyes heavy and resting on the sight of the older man sitting beside her, a gentle smile curving his lips. Her voice was dead, rusty, in her throat and she watched as he scooted in closer to her, mind trying to catch up and chase away the sleep.

“You have been asleep for quite a long time,” he explained, placing an elbow on each knee and knotting his fingers in what she knew was an action one would do to pray. Here he was, the Father, praying at her bedside – or deathbed. “There was a while we did not think you would make it, but you have, child. We were all very worried.”

He reached a hand out, placing it on her own and the warmth was comforting, tired arms drinking it in and all she could manage to croak out was, “Is John okay?”

That smile on his lips quirked and his brushed his thumb over her knuckles. Once, she might have recoiled at it, might have fought, kicked and screamed against it with every fibre of her being. But then she remembered the church on fire, the tear gas that she used as an excuse for her crying, John lying on the ground and the Resistance fighter she had beaten to death to save him. And she remembered Joseph’s kindness, how Faith washed the blood from her, Jacob gruffly telling her she did good for helping to evacuate the civilians and helping save his idiot brother, Joseph holding her as she cried and cried and cried, because  _she didn’t have to be alone anymore, she had a family and a Father now._ The touch Joseph gave her was one of comfort, and comforted she felt.

“Yes,” is all he says on the matter and she wanted to ask more, discover more, but felt relieved and can rest that bit easier now. “The Resistance fled back to their hideout but have otherwise remained inactive.”

Her eyes dropped from his and a burning, strange shame bubbled beneath. He did not know about how she told Earl to run, to escape while he could. Maybe it would come back to bite her in the ass, things like that always did. At her silence, Joseph stood from his chair to sit on the edge of the bed, hand going from her own to rest on her cheek. It was meant to grab her attention and her eyes made their way to meet his gaze again.

“I understand your troubles, child,” he said, and there was that cord around her heart again, because the kindness he was showing was one she didn’t deserve, not after all she had done to him and his family. “You believed they were your family, your friends, but they are not. They would not listen, and they do not believe you capable of making your own decisions. Do you not see how corrupt they are? They do not listen even when you try to reason, when you allow them to leave us in peace or to join us. They fight against that which they do not understand.”

She could feel the cord tightening and tightening, threatening to burst into a flood of tears as a lump in her throat became solid, a sniffle leaving her. She thought of Earl’s words, calling her a traitor, teeth carving his insults into knives that dug into her skin.

How she pleaded with him to just leave or join, to follow the Father or follow their own path – out of Hope’s County. He had spat at her, saying she was drugged out of her mind despite her insistence that wasn’t. It only went from bad to worse when John came from the shadows, taunting the Sheriff, telling him that these offers would not be made again, that even his own Deputy Rookie had seen the light. Earl’s nostrils flaring, going for his gun and – to the surprise of all but none more than her own – she stepped in front of the glistening barrel, in front of John, to  _protect_.

Her eyes shut themselves, trying to block out the words Earl threw at her, the first tear falling but Joseph caught it, trying to soothe her as the cries wracked her body;  _you’re his whore_ , Earl hissed at her, and it hurt more than it should have. It hurt more to think about it, to remember the fire in Earl’s eyes as he watched her stand in front of John, preventing the Sheriff to fire his gun unless he wanted the bullet to tear through his Rookie. And how John told her to step aside, voice strained, to stop acting like the situation wasn’t getting out of hand. It didn’t matter because Whitehorse had shot her anyway and she could still remember John’s oh blue eyes staring at her, begging her not to leave him, like she had told him when she had thought he would die on her while recklessly driving to where the rest of the group had escaped from the Resistance’s attack on the church service.

“I tried, I tried to – to help but I failed,” she croaked, throat parched but the tears were staining her tongue with salt and the sadness that had been building up for so long. She had remembered being so sure the first few weeks, knowing that Whitehorse would come to save her, break her out. He  _had_ to, and if not him, someone else, one of her _friends_. She couldn’t count the days or nights as they bled into one stream and when John had told her, sitting next to her and trying to get her to break her steadfast silence as they lazed beneath the burning sun, it had been six months, she very nearly did break.

Joseph hushed her cries then, his hand a gentle burn on her cheek, making the other side feel too cold. It hadn’t been the torture that broke her, it hadn’t been the guards around her all time in the beginning that prevented her from leaving. It hadn’t been all that Earl wanted to believe, it wasn’t the Bliss, it wasn’t under threat of death or worse.

It was her own incurable loneliness and intense want for love that kept her there.

And Joseph knew it.

She had lied to herself time and time again; at first, it had been the guards, but they didn’t shadow her completely, were meant to subdue if she attempted to escape, not kill. Then, when John had begun to trust her, more than he should have and she had laughed at him for it, it had been the ridiculous plan she had: get close, pretend to be a part them, then kill Joseph. She had to cut off the head of the snake, but she would need to get near enough to do so.

So, she had pretended, pretended to be swayed, pretended to not hate him.

And then, somewhere along the way, she had stopped pretending.

How talking with John didn’t make her recoil, how their poisoned bartered words faded to something else – something one could consider _civilised_. Almost as if they weren’t enemies, almost friends. She remembered how she had snuck out a piece of some old newspaper from his room and opened the crossword puzzle, a pencil wriggling as she turned it in and out between her fingers. He returned, telling her she looked almost angelic, and she snickered when he asked her how the puzzle was going, not even angry that she had stolen it from him.

Every box in the crossword was filled with the word  _fuck_  until it couldn’t fit.

And it was then it hit her, the normalcy despite it all: the two of them sitting close to one another at the round table, how he had given a dead eyed yet amused look that made her stick her tongue out at him; they had begun to end their day like that, her waiting at the table in the late evening with a new crossword puzzle (he would give her the pages instead of her rooting around in his room) and then him coming home ( _home_ , the first time she thought that word it had shook her to her core, ratting her thoughts, feelings, heart) talking to her, teasing her.

She didn’t want to go, and it was all for selfish reasons.

Not because of the guards that no longer dogged her every stop.

Not because of her plan to assassinate Joseph, who had spoken to her alone on more than one occasion.

He had snuck his way beneath her skin, their antipathy fizzling out to… something she didn’t know, didn’t have the word filed into her vocabulary. In the beginning, she rejected any kindness he extended her, spitting, kicking it all back at his face. He had kept her locked in the cell, had worn her away with time instead of knives – though, he had tried to latter first but even tied down she could still put up a better fight than any of his fighters. And then, keeping her on a leash, never letting her leave, never to stray from his sight for too long.

Then it went into an area where she knew he was her enemy, but the loneliness was so, _so_ overwhelming, more than it had ever been. She wanted to despise him, wanted to spit at him for the words tattooed on her but even the brightest flame burns out and she was left a smouldering ember. John became settled, ignoring her attempts to stay away from him, seeking her company, becoming less her captor and more her…

 _Her_ … _?_

The first service she had been allowed to be a part of was not attended by the other Seed siblings, and John had been  _giddy_ , letting slip to her on the ride up that he had been asking Joseph to let her attend for weeks. She had sat still and silent, watching him being energetic to the point even she was mesmerized, less by the words but more by him. The other church goers, afterwards and shaking her hand with bright smiles, had commented how the service was very exciting, that Mr. John had been very full of energy and that it must be because of her. It stilled her, and she would give a tight-lipped smile, not trusting her voice.

It had been the two of them, standing at the top, him looking at her with the brightest, bluest eyes she had ever seen.

“Well?”

He was asking for her opinion on it, waiting with bated breath with eyes trained on her as she brushed an imaginary speck of dust from her dress (she had no other clothes besides the rows of floral dresses and she had bitterly laughed at the thought that John had picked them just for her, but it hadn’t been far from the truth). He was waiting for something, anything.

“It was…” she paused, letting him suffer for that bit longer, meeting his eyes with a nonchalant shrug. “Okay.”

“‘ _Okay’_?” He repeated, blinking at her words. It nearly pulled a laugh from her lips. “Just  _okay_? That’s all I get? No  _‘That was one of the most amazing, beautiful sermon I have ever been to, John, thank you for letting me come here, you’re so amazing and great_ ’?”

“That’s stretching it a bit,” she teased, and his lips formed into something akin to a pout – a fucking  _pout,_ she imagined the look on Earl’s face if she could ever tell him that she had made John Seed pout because she didn’t shower him with enough praise. “I haven’t been to many sermons, so I can’t really compare.”

“Then I’ll just have to bring you to every one of them,” he decided, and she sagged her shoulders, a groan leaving her.

“If you were going to torture me, you should have done this months ago,” she whined, and he shot her a look, a sharp one that was halfway serious, half way hurt but she brushed it aside. “I mean, you been to one, you been to them all. Praise God, he’s the best, Jesus is cool, all that jazz.”

“Did you just refer to the Lord and his teachings as ‘all that jazz’?”

“I didn’t peg you as someone who actively seeks validation,” she smirked, and he gave her that look again, as if to say  _I’m letting you get away with it but quit while you’re ahead_. “I mean, don’t you already have a song dedicated to you?”

He pulled a face at her words and that smile pulled at her lips. “I’d rather not think of that.”

“How did it go again?”

“Don’t – ”

“ _Come brothers and come sisters -!”_

He hissed, and she loudened her voice, the echo of it a choir bouncing around at him from all sides. Whatever validation he sought from her was chased away with the opening line as he turned away, hoping to get away from her and her obnoxious singing. She over exaggerated her movement, following him around as she tried to make her voice as loud as she could, practically shouting the lyrics of the surprisingly catchy song into his ear as he tried to get away.

She imagined what the scene would look like to outsiders: John Seed being chased by the former Rookie in his own church while she was yelling the words of a song in his ear.

 _Maybe this was the tactic the Resistance should have opted for_ , she thought as she followed John, laughing through the words as he was unsuccessfully trying to cover his ears, but she grabbed his wrists and tugged his hands away, trailing after him. A frown was on his face and it only urged her on, moving her arms around as he settled into the front pew, hands in his face as she sidled into the one behind him, leaning in close.

“ _Oh John! Bold and brave! He’s finding us a family –!”_

She clapped her hands onto his shoulders, an action that would have garnered her a punishment a few months ago, an action she would have been repulsed to do, but he let out a disgruntled noise, clearly annoyed but it only spurred her on. Her only fuel these last few months was making sure to annoy John Seed at all times.

_“Oh John! Keep us safe! He’s gonna march us right through Eden’s Gate! Oh, Lord, he’s gonna march us -!”_

She was suddenly cut off, hands slipping from his shoulders as he turned, large, calloused hands wrapping around her upper arms and pulling her forward. An uncharacteristic squeak left her as she tumbled over the pew, singing cut off as John brought her over the row and she landed, head in his lap with a breath leaving her at the impact. The hardness of the pew ached her back and her hair, which was far too long, was spilling onto his lap, eyes peering at her from above. Her dress had hiked to her mid-thigh and her eyes were wide, staring at him. There was a lame echo of the scuffle, but it faded out, leaving them in silence; she lay with her head in the lap of John Seed, blue eyes gazing straight into her own as one arm lay on her stomach, hand softly holding onto her bicep while the other circled around her head to do the same.

“Better,” he commented, a half smile quirking his lips.

For a moment, she was caught, ensnared by him; she could smell him, the faint smell of some cologne, leather, the woods that they were surrounded by. He was looking down at her, face close enough that she could see every misshapen freckle that burst along his nose, across his cheek. She couldn’t blink, couldn’t breathe; he was warm, and he held her where she was, she couldn’t have moved even if she wanted to. His grip on her arm wasn’t rough or harsh, it was something she could easily break, and he was in the perfect position that if she sat up, her forehead would crunch his nose.

But she didn’t.

She laid where she was, head in John Seed’s lap, captivated by his gaze as it darted from her eyes, her nose, across the plain of her cheeks to her lips. There was a swelling in her heart then, mouth parting slightly to take in the breath her lungs longed to take, and she tried not to drown. The sun was dripping in through the windows, broken in some places and casting long shadows and it felt warm on her bare legs, but all she could focus on was the warmth of him, how he held her, his eyes, the way that smile was dropping. It was just the two of them, alone and without any eyes watching; a stray strand of her hair had slithered its way around her throat and her breath hitched audibly as he moved to unhook its hold on her.

 _What am I doing? What am I doing?_ She had screamed at herself, mind raging at her body’s inability to respond to common sense and knock her forehead into his face, but she couldn’t, her body felt unable to respond in anyway except to allow itself to be held by a man that had tortured her for months, had isolated her, hurt her. She tried to tell herself these things, to dredge up those memories but they didn’t matter because all she could think was how _beautiful_ John’s eyes were.

His fingers moved to the crook of her neck, to her jaw, whispering against her skin as they found themselves resting on her cheek; he watched his actions, almost fascinated and a hum left him unconsciously.  _This is wrong, this is wrong, what am I doing?_ She half sobbed, trying to bring herself back to the reality outside of the church walls, the reality she had been kept away from by John, the reality she knew lurked in the shadows because she had been a part of it once.

But she can’t remember the last time someone held her like this. Maybe it had been her father before he died, or her step mother at the funeral, or one of her many failed attempts at finding a lover for the night before a panic would settle over her through the haze of alcohol and she would kick them out before they could even get her knickers off. John’s thumb brushed against her cheekbone and she felt a rush of warmth beneath her cheeks, bursting and burning as he took a deep breath, meeting the eyes that had never left him.

 _Stop, stop, stop_ , she had told herself, but she didn’t listen – when had she ever? He was closer now, closer than he had ever been without the two of them trading punches. Her heart stuttered in her chest, tripping over itself as a tightness formed in her throat. The heat in her cheeks made her feel as if she were going to turn into ash and dust, nothing for Whitehorse to salvage and her mind was screaming, yelling at her for anything, to do something.

He was close, closer than he had ever been, and he had such long lashes and she felt that quickness in her chest become suffocating, making it feel there was not enough air in the entirety of Hope’s County to save her.

She thought of Earl, of Hudson, of their faces and how disgusted they would be to see her acting like this and she flew up, John just narrowly missing have his nose broken. Nervousness flooded her veins, embarrassment too, and she begged for a distraction, for someone to come in to take him away, or maybe for the Lord to open the ground where she was and let the Earth swallow her six feet under.

“We should get going! I’m pretty sure they’ll be wondering – “

She barely got her spout of word vomit out before he tugged her back down, making her lie where she had been, and her nervous chattering quietened, eyes wide and teeth gnashing on the inside of her cheek to cure that knot in her stomach.

“Calm down, Deputy,” John smirked, holding her in place without the roughness that had faded some months before. He wasn’t leaning over her anymore, opting to slump into the pew as comfortably as he could with one arm draped over her stomach, back on her bicep. He let his head fall back so that his eyes remained upward, making her feel grateful that those piercing blue eyes weren’t directed towards her anymore. She stared at the tilt of his chin, the darkness of his beard where it faded away to tan skin, dipping beneath the collar of his shirt and the tattoos, scars, red and scratchy lines peering out from underneath. Her mouth was dry, and her tongue was glued to the roof of her mouth. His thumb moved so slightly on her arm, back and forth, back and forth, that if it were not against her bare skin, she would never have noticed. “We’ve got all the time in the world.”

_Until one of us dies or until the world ends, that is._

She didn’t know how long they stayed there, in silence of the church, solemn and peaceful with the basking sunlight that was pouring in through the windows edging its way closer and closer up her legs, her waist, drowning her in light. She felt too wound up, a string wrapping around every muscle in her body, and she felt too nervous to take a proper breath. She wondered if he had fallen asleep, head back and showing her the vulnerable plain of his throat, but his thumb kept moving, soft as it made its way over and back again, wearing her away before she sucked in a wave of air, closing her eyes, and letting it go. For a brief, selfish moment, she let herself believe that they were somewhere far away, away from Hope’s County, away from Eden’s Gate, and they were different people who were allowed to do this without any repercussions.

And it ate away at her, the teeth of guilt gnawing her insides into nothing, making her fear that a single breeze would make her crumple. She tried so many times to keep herself grounded, to remember there was a whole, large, lonely world waiting for her outside of Hope’s County and that Whitehorse was counting on her. She tried to remember the dank, dark cell she spent weeks and weeks in, first with her and John screaming with bloodied, raw throats at one another, louder than any of the other prisoners. She tried to remember the pain, the hurt,  _everything_. Anything to remember he was a monster, anything to remember what he had done. Hudson’s face broken and beaten face, the pain of her friends, her own. She missed them all, Sharky, Nick, Adelaide, Earl and even Pratt.

She wondered how Boomer was; truth be told, she missed the dog most of all. She wondered if John would let her bring the dog back with her.

But then he had found her one day outside, sitting in the lush green picking the daisies with the grass staining her skin and she pulled the petals off, one by one, sinking or falling away. Stripped from her uniform, her guns, her friends, her work, she wasn’t the Deputy or Rook. She wasn’t who she was pretending to be, acting as she did to hide who she really was. It had been so peaceful, no gunfire, no screaming, no death and destruction or end of the world.

“Do you ever have second guesses about what you’re doing?” she had asked him, legs curled under her, John sitting next to her stretched out and on his side with arms keeping him upright. She looked down at him, but he was already staring at her.

“Did you, Deputy?”

No, she hadn’t had any second guesses. She was fighting against a goddamned  _cult_ , for fucks’ sake, and they had been torturing people and there was no doubt in her mind that what she was doing was right.

But seeing a different side to the enemy had made those foundations, those morals, on which she stood shake and crackle. And here she was, sitting next to one of said cult leaders on a bright, blue day, the soft warmth making them lazy and relaxed, almost lying against one another in peace, as if they weren’t enemies. The silence he would drift into made her warier than the shouting, than the yelling that would leave them both with raw throats and a hole in the wall or a table knocked over from his temper. Of course, she preferred him when they weren’t screaming at one another for the whole world to hear, threats and insults bouncing off each other, but it was familiar, more akin to the John she thought she knew.

They sat in silence for a pause, letting the soft wind rush over them, sun beating down on the two odd couple as she continued to rip a flower limb from limb, the morbid actions doing little to quell the jitteriness bubbling beneath her skin. The last petal she tore rushed from her fingers and she watched it disappear into a speck, nothingness. Her hands dropped to her lap, gripping the stem so tightly in her hand, knuckles fading to a bruised yellow.

“Aoibh.”

She didn’t turn to meet his eyes again, but she could feel them on her, piercing her and trying to see past all that she built to keep everyone out.

“What?”

A weight on her chest faded away, making her feel too light, too  _her_. It wasn’t Deputy, wasn’t Rook, wasn’t all the nicknames her friends had given her ( _what friends? Hadn’t they left her here?_ ). In their heads, she knew they saw what she wanted them to see, saw her as nothing more than the Rookie, there to solve all problems and act as a pillar of strength. But she was pulled away from all that made her what they wanted to see, she was just… her.

“My name,” she clarified, looking down to the crushed flower in her palm, opening her fingers to let it fall to the grass as she wiped her hand on her dress. “My name is Aoibh.”

Aoibh had unlocked what she meant to keep hidden for the rest of her life and it burst forward, making it only go downhill from there.

She could do little against the strengthening tide that continued to push her towards what she feared would happen, to what she wished never would happen.

He caught her singing once and told her she had a nice voice; another time, she had told him how much of a terrible cook he really was and to not quit his day job (the darkness of it all rushed over her head and Aoibh couldn’t believe she was  _teasing_  and  _joking_  with  _John Seed_ ). He had started giving her the crossword puzzles from any newspaper he got without her having to ask, despite knowing she never really put in any effort to actually do them. Aoibh told him how she became a police officer before her transfer to Hope’s Country, making her the youngest one on the team, how the reason wasn’t because she wanted to serve and protect. She didn’t tell him (at first) about the anger that ate her alive for so many years, the first time she woke up at age 12 to the smell of alcohol, her step mother out working and her uncle being there to  _mind_  her.

When she did it had been on her own accord and she couldn’t remember the last time she cried, or how she ended up sobbing into John Seed’s arms.

It had taken him weeks, months, maybe even more than a year, but he had finally done it; it hadn’t been the torture, it hadn’t been the isolation. It hadn’t been the Bliss, or the fear. It hadn’t been what she wanted it so very badly to be.

It had been on her own violation to allow herself to be wrapped around John Seed’s fucking finger and Aoibh never hated herself more for it.

He had baptised her in the middle of the night, shaking Aoibh awake with a roughness that was more akin the John she had from months before. They had fought some hours before (fought, as if they were close and friendly enough to do so) and she had crumpled in on herself in shame of her words, how she shouted that she wished she had killed him when she had the chance. The bandage, the one John had gently wrapped around her hand, was barely doing anything to help the throb of the burn from where she had stuck her hand into the boiling oil of the pan that was then promptly upturned on the ground, the bubbling liquid already cooling as John had come running at the sound of her scream, the look of complete and utter worry making her half sob, half laugh. She hadn’t known where he had gone after what she said, and was left by herself, the anger withering to worry – worry for herself, worry at how he would react, worry at what would happen.

And, just an hour after she had managed to fall sleep, he had awoken her and told her gruffly to get up, pulling her along without allowing Aoibh to put on a pair of socks and shoes. The tension was choking in the truck, suffocating and smothering, eyes darted to where John sat in the driver’s seat, hands clenched around the wheel with such intensity that Aoibh that it would break beneath his grip. He had pulled up roughly, the tires dragging and coughing up dirt, and the engine gave a few wheezes as he pulled the keys out, flinging open his door and slamming it. The sound had rung in her ears and her heart began to speed up, anxiety rushing through her as, a few seconds later, her own door was yanked open and he pulled her from the safety of the truck, none too gently but not a rough as he could have,  _should_ have been. The night had been cold, and she was forced to follow, his fingers like a vice that pulled her along, her poor, bare feet barely managing to keep up with his long strides. And it was only when she saw the book clutched in his other hand and the sound of gurgling water reached her ears, that the realisation hit her.

They entered the clearing, the water of the stream shooting back warped stars of the night and the surface was calm. They were alone, and he had let go, taking off his coat to spare it from the cold embrace she knew awaited and Aoibh could already imagine what it felt like, mostly because of her past experience that had been none too pleasant. John waded into the water, not caring for the freezing temperatures and let it stop at mid hip, just below the buckle of his belt; she watched him, too frightened to go to him, too mesmerized to run. He recited the words with none of the vigour as he had last time, brash and harsh, rushing, as he said the words all the while Aoibh watched, waiting. And then, he threw the book onto the riverbank, turning to her. There were no signs of barrels containing the Bliss littered around, no one else but the two of them.

“Come to me, Aoibh, so I may wash away your sins,” he said, something she would have thought to be desperation in his voice, but that was ridiculous because John Seed was not a desperate man. His arms lay open for her, beckoning her to step into the water but her toes dug into the dirt, anchoring her, forbidding her to take that step forward that she knew would lead to another and another. Around them, the crickets chirped, and the night owls burst from the trees, shaking free loose, lame leaves. He stared at her and his eyebrows furrowed together, arm straightening to her.

She could not, _would not_ go to him, but he was staring at her and he took a step closer to her, the water rushing around him and sloshing as he continued to hold his arm to her. She could only stare at him, his face and how wound up it was, a crease between his eyebrows and there was purple bruises of exhaustion hanging beneath his eyes. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and rusty, cracking.

“ _Please._ ”

The water had been cold, consuming and she had slipped her hand into his open one, John not attempting to disguise the relief on his face or the breath he had been holding. The water came just below her breasts and he placed his free hand between her shoulder blades, the other bracing itself on her stomach as her fingers held tightly onto his bicep. Their eyes met one another, holding each other in place before he tipped her beneath the surface, not like last time where he had held her, and she had struggled.

It lasted all of three, maybe five seconds before her pulled her up, hands moving to brush the dark, wet curtains plastered to her face, cradling her rose frosted cheeks, helping her regain her balance as the water settled around them. On his lips was one of the largest smiles she had ever seen, nothing like the sadistic ones he had given her, or the smirks and half quirks that she had only ever witnessed before then. She wrapped her hands around his wrists, steadying herself and to steal some of the warmth that was quickly robbed from her. He was _so close_ and _so warm_ , if only he was closer to her.

“You have been cleansed in the light of the Father and of the Lord,” he whispered, voice dropping low and dipping so that their foreheads met, the action tugging at something in her heart, nearly making her melt away into nothingness. She glanced at him through her eyelashes, his own eyes closed and something akin to pure relief and something else she did not know, had never seen before, gracing his features as he held her close, palms a comforting burn on either side of her face. “You may now join us at Eden’s Gate.”

No one had said anything when they returned, eyes not lingering at the sight of John and the Deputy close to one another, her wearing his coat for warmth but they knew. They saw her soaked clothes, her damp hair, shivering hands that were holding John’s – partly for warm, other because… because she had not denied him when he had taken hers and because she had _wanted to_. She had been deemed saved, worthy of being a member of the Project, of remaining at Eden’s Gate without her sin tarnishing it black. Aoibh had gone to him freely, had allowed herself to be baptised freely, had allowed him to do it all with her knowing and giving consent. She had become one of those she had been sworn to fight.

And it did not eat away at her as it used to.

Of course, she knew it was wrong, there was no doubt about that, but there were still some who were like her, those electing to remain without the effects of the bliss, who helped each other out and were nice to her because they wanted to be. She wasn’t the Deputy, wasn’t the Rookie, wasn’t any of what they had thought her to be.

She could be her now, could just be Aoibh.

Earl had been too many months too late even before she was baptised. After the last failed attack on the church and learning that his Rookie had dragged John Seed’s ass from the burning building, there was a planned parley made to bring peace. Parley, as if the Resistance would ever willingly leave them to their doings in Hope’s County. Aoibh knew better, knew that Earl wouldn’t back down despite his earlier hesitation. She was chosen to lead the negotiations, mostly because they thought that the Resistance wouldn’t instantly attempt to fill her with bullets on sight.

It made her laugh now.

It had gone from bad to worse to terrible and she ended up shot, nearly dying, and the Resistance had fled away, Earl left to try and pick up the pieces of his failing army against the entire brute force of Eden’s Gate, all the while reeling from the  _betrayal_ of his junior Deputy.

John didn’t come to see her until much later, when Joseph left her, and the sun had risen, lingered and fallen. It was dusk, and the blood of the sky dyed her room a dark colour, the cooling warmth on her skin. Joseph had been right in saying she had been asleep for a long time as the wound wasn’t as bad as it would have been in its first week. She had been staring out the window, lost in nothing to do but wait for time to pass and her wound to heal, when the door opened, the lack of knocking something that told her it was John. Privacy was not a thing well heard of here and it was something she learned to get used to. Her eyes lazily trailed to the opening door and there he was, stepping into the room with a dark cloud over his head, hair rumpled and purple smudged beneath his eyes.

He paused for a moment, still holding the handle on the other side of the door, before taking a deep breath and entering into the room completely, the door clicking shut softly behind him. She pulled herself up into a seating position, bones creaking at the movement after remaining still for so long and John moved across the roof, boots thundering on the wooden floorboards. The silence had made the air thicker, harder to breathe in as it turned to sludge.

She had taken a bullet for him, had willingly put herself on death’s threshold to save him. John grabbed the chair, settling into it and scooting it further to the edge of the bed, eyes downcast and shoulders slumping. It had surprised her that the Seed siblings had gone through so much effort to make her recovery as comfortable as possible, considering how more than a few months ago they were all trying to kill each other. Though, she supposed that all changed when she saved John’s ass more than once and took a bullet for him. It hadn’t hit any bone, chewing into just above her hip, but she knew it would take months to fully recover, no matter how much better she felt.

For a moment, neither spoke, waiting for the other to say something first before she couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Well, that could have gone better.”

To her complete surprise, an amused huff left him, and he finally met her eyes, the two matching with the bruises of exhaustion and the suspension dwindled.

“I must say, Deputy, that you saving my ass is becoming a bit of a habit of yours,” he responds, but there’s an edge to his words, one she doesn’t miss. Her legs folded in under themselves, clasping her hands and resting them between her thighs as the blanket fell to her waist.

Truth be told, both of them looked like shit; her due to being shot, him…

Well, she didn’t really know why he looked like he had been sleeping in a ditch.

She gave a breathy laugh, the bandages wrapped around her making it feel awkward as she pulled herself into a straighter position to sit in. Here she was, lying in bed, talking to the man she was just after taking a bullet for – a man she had been dead set on killing so long ago. It was hard to pinpoint the moment when she knew she would hesitate to pull the trigger on him, all those moments flowed into one big blur and all she could think about was the two of them sitting at the table, the radio low and window open as she worked on her crossword puzzle (word of the day: cunt) and him enjoying the silence, her company.

“Don’t get too used to it,” Aoibh retorted, voice croaking slightly. “I’m bedridden for the next few days, so don’t go getting yourself into life or death situations.”

“I’ll try not to,” was all he said, and they fell silent again, unsure of how to proceed while ignoring the elephant in the room.

What was she expecting him to say?  _Hey Deputy, thanks for taking a bullet for me after I tortured you and isolated you from your friends for months on end! You’re a real pal!_ She swallowed the delirious laugh bubbling on her tongue and glanced to her knotted hands, trying to find the words. She had felt many things in the presence of John Seed: anger, hatred, fear, abhorrence, disgust, dread, loathing. She had felt, more recent, those feelings less so, watching them with despair as they drifted away on her, leaving her feeling… different. Peaceful, amused, fascinated, calmed.

Awkwardness?

That was ridiculous; she had felt enjoyment on occasions because she  _did_  enjoy his company, when he wasn’t acting like a complete bastard, which was becoming more often lately.

Her mouth was dry, stuffed to the brim with cotton and she tore her tongue from the roof and took a deep breath. “John –”

“You’re going to put me in an early grave,” he groaned, placing his face into his hands, rubbing and trying to dispel whatever emotion that had been hinting at the edges of his features before she could see it. Her lips pursed at his words.

“I did used to say that I would kill you, one day. I just always imagined it would be with gun, or maybe knife,” was her nonchalant reply, taking to picking at the threads of her blanket without much success. This time, he didn’t laugh.

“You’re going to stay here and recover,” he said, voice dull and void of the cockiness that was a famous trait of his. Her eyes flew to him, ready protest but he cut her off. “I’m not playing the nurse for you and I’m sure as shit that you won’t listen to me. The bullet that hit you is proof of your goddamn pride and inability to listen to others.”

Her temper flared despite Aoibh knowing she  _really_ wasn’t in a position, physically, emotionally and mentally, to argue with him but when had she ever listened to her better judgement? It was the reason she wound up in this shithole. She couldn’t  _fucking_  believe this, she was being chastised by  _him_! By  _John Seed_ , of all people! There was some sick irony there, that the man she had been so focused on killing was now one of the few people who actually cared about her, if it were possible.

“ _My_ pride?” She scoffed, hands curling and fingernails taking bites out of the inside of her palm. “You can’t be fucking serious. After all the shit  _you’ve_  done, all that shit  _you’ve_  said, and you think  _I’m_  prideful? Just remember who crawled back into that burning church to save your dying ass.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did you expect me to get all weepy and teary eyed?” he snapped back at her, not caring to keep his voice down, but neither was she. “‘Oh, thank you so much, Deputy. I sure am grateful that you nearly died because you couldn’t handle the fact your pathetic attempt for peace blew up in your face!’ Is that what you’re waiting to hear?”

“Jesus  _fucking_  Christ –”

“ _Deputy.”_

“Fucking Hell, you can’t be serious! Is that what you think it is? That I let Whitehorse shoot me because I was sad about the fact he refused the peace terms?” Her hands were fisting the sheets, trying so hard not to leap out of bed and knock her knuckles into his nose. If there was one thing John never failed to do, is was making her want to tear her own hair out at his thick-headedness.

“It hasn’t stopped you before!”

“God, I can’t believe you – you even have the brain capacity to know how to breathe, let alone speak!” she growled, and his eyes narrowed at her, the familiarity of their traded barbs and insults making it feel like all those months of peace and calmness never happened. “You really are one thick shit, John, you know that?”

“Congratulations,  _Aoibh_ , all those months and you still haven’t improved your insults,” he shot back at her and her cheeks burned in anger, in embarrassment. He stressed her name, making the spat ( _spat_ , not  _fight_ ) that bit more intimate, making it different than when he would spit out  _Deputy_  at her. “Maybe your time here can be put towards more productive thinking.”

There was a flame in her chest and it was trailing to her stomach, jaw clenched, and she couldn’t stop herself from ripping the blanket from her, exposing her legs to the cold air of the room and standing to her wobbly kneed legs, attempting to gain an advantage over him. The world spun for a brief moment, but she remained as still as she could, trying not to collapse under the light headedness that was washing over her. She glared down at him, breathing ragged as she tried not to think of how close they are, the small space allotted between the bed and where he sat that much smaller now that she stood in it.

“So, this is the thanks I get for keeping you alive?” her voice was dangerously low yet steady, the wavering she felt in her heart unheard of in her words. “’Thanks for saving me, Aoibh, really, you’re a champ, but I’m kicking you out.’”

He stood, the backs of his knees pushing the legs of the chair, making them screech horribly against the floorboards and making her wince. Now there was barely anything that kept them apart, save for a small hair’s width between his boots and her bare feet. Whatever advantage she had hoped to have was gone as he stood over her. She had never felt as small as she did then, but it did not deter her. Worst comes to worst, she could always punch him in the balls.

“You really expect me to believe that you did that for  _my_ benefit? How stupid do you think I am?”

That caught her up short.

Did he really believe that she had only been shot simply because she hadn’t want the peace talks to go to shit? She supposed, it was a reasonable thing to believe, one that should have made sense. To others, it did. No one would question her if she said that was the truth, no one would blame her if she said that was the real reason. Any variation would have worked on them because there was only one other side to her actions that would have made no sense to an outsider if she wasn’t drugged out of her mind by the bliss.

Her? Take a bullet to protect John Seed? Absurd, ridiculous, ludicrous…

_Absolutely true._

And she faltered, mouth flying open, but no words sprang forth for defence, for something,  _anything_  but she remained silent and he snorted, as if proven right. That age-old wine made from an ache she knew all too well overflowed in her heart and she knew, _knew_ that it was a make or break moment.  _Let him believe, let him think, let it all just go away._ She could take it to her grave, keep it close to her mind, her heart, never let another soul ever know of what she carried. It would have been better, kinder,  _smarter_  to do that.

But, of course, she was the  _biggest fucking idiot to walk the planet_  and decided to do the complete opposite of a smart thing.

“Is that what you think?”

She had uncorked the bottle of her feelings and no force on Heaven or Earth would be able to stop the tidal wave that would consume her.

Just as she had before, he faltered, blinking at her words and a heavy, unsettling quietness settled on the two of them. She began to panic, wanting nothing more than to reel those words back into her mouth and shove them into box deep down inside of her. Her mouth snapped shut, teeth aching on impact, and she wondered if her heart would burst from her chest. It hadn’t been the fear of being tortured or killed that made her panic like this, it was the prospect of confronting  _feelings_. That was something more frightening than any torture session she had been through.

And he stared at her, making Aoibh want to shrivel away into nothing.  _Ceann cipín_ , her father would had laughed at her. Always saying something, never saying it right. If that end of the world were to happen, she would have been grateful if it happened at that moment.

“Is that not the truth?”

There was a hitch in her breathing and she thought of it as one last chance, one last chance to bring the situation back to what it was, to bring it back to what she knew, what was familiar. It would take one word, his _favourite_ word, to make it all go away, to make it back to what it needed to be. No grey area, no thin lines. It had always been easier in that cell and she would have preferred it if he left her there, instead of plucking her out and treating her nice, acting less like a sadistic piece of shit who only existed to make her life Hell.

But no, he had to go and act like he was, act like he  _cared_ , like they were friends and not captor and reluctant prisoner. He had to talk to her, had to find out more, tell her more, fill her days with endless nonsense she was grateful for because it distracted her from the monstrous loneliness in her that had swollen and become bloated, deprived of all coping mechanisms that were used to beat it into a corner of her mind. It made her seethe, made her angry more than anything, because he had made her feel – made her  _feel_  like shit, made her  _feel_  more than all that fire and fury.

“No,” she said, the word rushing in a wave out from her and she couldn’t catch it even if she wanted to. She heard his intake of breath and it’s too late before she realises what she’s done, what she has said. New panic took over from the old, trained and much stronger, and the word vomit starts as she actively avoids his gaze. “I mean, not wanting for it all to go to shit was part, but out of the two of us, whose death would be more likely to cause a massacre? There’s that and I didn’t actually think he would shoot me – which he didn’t do on purpose. It was an accident, he didn’t actually mean to shoot anyone so, technically, there hadn’t been any danger until I –”

She was then cut off by hands on either side of her face, pulling her from her nonsense spewing and turning her gaze upwards and Aoibh had the briefest of moments to look at his face before his lips are on hers, harsh and beard scratching her skin. It took her a moment, a single heartbeat, to realise what was happening, the cold shock of it all freezing her in place. He wasn’t gentle, she never expected him to be, but there was a soft, chasteness lingering at the edges of the kiss, lips waiting for her and she felt her eyes flutter close, a sigh building up as she returned it, hands moving to grip his upper arms to remain steady.

She could hardly think, hardly breathe, hardly move as the train wreck of her thoughts crashed and burn, fingers digging into his arm, rolling onto the balls of her feet to push her lips back against his. His beard scratched against her skin but in a way that it doesn’t make her feel irritated or disgusted, and his lips moved against hers, hands holding her tightly in place, making it impossible to leave even if she wanted to. Oh, and how she did not want to. She couldn’t remember the last time she kissed someone, or whether it had felt as good as it did then. Maybe she had been drunk and had allowed her midnight partner a few brief, sloppy kisses before she pushed them out the door.

Aoibh was flush against him, feeling him and yet it was not enough; she felt his tongue brush against her lips and she opened her mouth to him, slow and steady as her knees began to become wobbly, threatening to give out from underneath her. She tasted him, his tongue teasing her own, a sound escaping from the back of his throat and she was becoming undone by him. She needed more,  _wanted_  more, and he stepped forward, the backs of her legs against the bed. Her clothes were too tight, and his tongue was wrapping around hers, moving a hand to entangle it in her hair and knotting the strands in his fingers, tugging slightly. It made a moan leave her, a moan she hadn’t known was possible, and he tightened his grip, that ache between Aoibh’s legs becoming more and more pronounced by the second.

He was kissing her,  _John Seed_ was  _kissing_ the  _Junior Deputy_  and she never wanted it to end, wanting to bring him closer before the pain in her lungs reminded her that she needed air to survive and she broke the kiss, sucking in a sharp, much needed breath. Her lips felt raw, pulsing from the heated moment and it’s a reminder that it was real.

And that she really and truly gone beyond the point of no return.

The reality of what they had done rushed back to Aoibh and her hands dropped from where they were on his arms, falling to her sides with widened eyes. They were both breathing heavily, unsure of how to move forward, knowing they could never go back. He still had a hand in her hair, the other burning into her cheek and his chest was heaving, pinkened lips glistening slightly. She couldn’t step away from him and he would not move from her, leaving them both hyper-aware of the other’s presence. Her body was flushed with warmth, her wound pulsating dully but wasn’t unbearable. Between her legs was where she was all too aware of and Aoibh almost felt ashamed.  _Almost._

Slowly, he disentangled himself from her, hands moving away from her hair and cheek, stepping back and the air rushed into her chest, trying to untangle that knot and calm the nervous chattering of her heart.

Their voices had died and Aoibh was still reeling; John Seed had kissed her, and she had not fought back against it, had willingly accepted it. She was thrown into chaos, trying to come to grips with it all but she could not accept even the simplest of explanations,  _would not_ accept them. She had been running on excuses until this moment and now she was fresh out of them to keep her going, left to confront the revelation that had been dogging her footsteps for months now.

And still, she did not turn to meet it.

“I… I need to rest,” was all she said through almost bruised, wet lips, rumpled hair tickling the nape of her neck and brushing across her bare arms. “You should go. We can talk later.”

He looked ready to protest ( _of course he was going to try and argue, that bastard_ ) but she turned away, climbing into the bed again with her back facing him, features shifting into something like horror. She didn’t need to try that hard to imagine the look of annoyance on his face, the clenched fists at his side but his boots thundered on the ground away from her, the door swinging open and slamming shut. She waited a moment, listening to the brief silence before she could already hear him shouting and Aoibh pulled the blankets to her nose, burying her face into them and curling into a tight ball on her side, as she had a habit of doing.

Despite the time she had spent unconscious, a sudden tiredness enveloped her, the energy she felt before dripping away to exhaustion. Stars burst and died out beneath her eyes from how tightly she squeezed them shut, trying to block out the rest of the world. Once, her biggest problem had been not dying from the constant gunfire pointed her way. Now? It was the fact she had kissed a boy for whom she conflicted feelings for – said boy being a cult leader and the very same man she had sworn to hate and kill.

Her problems had been so simple before this.

She curled tighter in on herself, trying to forget, trying not to remember every detail of the kiss, his lips against her, the smell of him, the scratch of his facial hair, tongue around hers, flush against his body…

That ache between her legs spurted again and she wanted it to go away, wanted the entire world to go away. It wasn’t fair, none of it was, it would have been better if one of them had killed the other, that way she wouldn’t have to deal with these goddamned emotions running rampant in her skull, filling every pocket with the touch, taste and smell of John Seed.

She remembered how, back in the church, she had laid there in his lap, how he made her lie there for god knows how long, anxiety creeping away to let comfort unfurl and how part of her never wanted it to end. The casual conversations they would have despite the world erupting into gunfire around them. The look on his face when she finally told him her name, as if she had given him something beyond any price. How those snarky smirks faded away to something sincerer. The confliction she felt was an ongoing war that had been building up for months, the death count piling up in her mind and making her panic swell.

Maybe it was Stockholm Syndrome, it had to be. It happened even to the best of people – which she wasn’t. But the straws she was grasping at were withering away to nothing.

How could she feel such things towards a man who kidnapped her? Tortured her? Isolated her? Treated her kindly? Showed a different side to her, a man who was more than just feeding off of the pain of others? Kept her company, was actually interested in what she had to say, teased her, shared in on her insulting banter, had looked at her with such eyes and made that coil in her chest appear?

Aoibh knew John Seed was not a perfect man, knew there were times, more often than not, where he wasn’t even a good one, but there were times, glimpses only she had been privy to see, when he gave her a smile, a sincere one, when he told her about how despondent his life had been before Joseph came (a more heartfelt story after the last one he had told her while she was tied in a chair) and despite it all, despite the disgust she had for herself, Aoibh found herself understanding the appeal. She thought back on her own life, after her father dying, running away from home, and barely getting by. Her own saviour had been a few years older, letting her crash on his couch when she stopped him from being mugged. When her one and only friend had died as a result of a drunk driver swerving onto the pedestrian’s path, Aoibh realised she was really and truly alone.

And she knew, with such a jarring realisation, that if Joseph had come to her, aged sixteen and searching for something, someone, to help her fill the gaping hole that the depression and loneliness had left in their wake, she would have gone with him.

They were not good people, not with how they acted but… but they truly believed they were helping people. She had seen the papers, heard the snippets from a crackling radio;  _Breaking News! War Declared After Peace Talks Break Down! Is A Nuclear War On America’s Horizon?_ It was one of the first things that shook her, at realising that Joseph had been  _right._ He had been right about his Great Collapse, only it wasn’t done by God, but rather by Man. They were going to destroy the Earth they lived on all because of their  _pride._

And she had stayed for that fear, of imminent, fiery death. But even that was a lie. The burning church sprang to mind, how she ran back in despite the shouts telling her not to and the tear gas stung her already stinging eyes, trying to find him, trying to make sure he was okay. There had been fear in her heart when she saw him, half slumped over and her first thought had been:  _please don’t be dead._

 A sigh escaped her, one that had been holding her down for so long and no matter which way she put it, no matter how many excuses she tacked on, there was no fighting. With a pained, solemn breath, Aoibh accepted the dreaded reality she had ignored for so long: the feelings she had for John Seed were no longer ones of hate, of antipathy, and that they had moulded into romantic ones. The acceptance wasn’t significant, didn’t make her burst out of bed to go and find him. It was a silent one, one that flowed through her and settled on top of her in its rightful place. Whatever he was before, whatever they had been before, no longer tore at her. It was just what it was. She liked John Seed and she thought of Sharky’s words, how he told her once to just fuck John and get over it and they had once made her nearly vomit.

 _Have you considered he's maybe in some kind of love with you?_ Adelaide’s words bounced in her head. Before, it had made her laugh, made her roll her eyes, saying that the day that would happen, the day she would fall into bed with John Seed, would be the day she would give her two friends the sum bet of forty dollars each.

Now?

The thought of him not reciprocating made her wilt into a depressed, heartbroken teenager.

She had never really entertained the thought of John being in love with her; he had tortured her, for starters, and all the other shit piled on top it had made her even laugh at the thought back then. But, she supposed it was strange for him to let her leave her cell free and undrugged by the Bliss, letting her sleep in his own home, be without cuffs and chains. How he hadn’t confined her, how he hadn’t dragged her kicking and screaming to the river to be baptised and when he had, he had let her go to him freely, without pushing her beneath the surface. How he was treating her kindly, nicely, their conversations becoming more civilised when she had learned to stomach his presence. How they could actually talk to one another, how he would actually ask her things, sometimes personal, sometimes opinion based but never allowing the conversation to erupt into arguments. She had been suspicious at first, building up her guard before it was worn away with time and lack of up keep. She was allowed to go where she pleased without guards after the first few months and often he would find her sitting with grass stained knees, joining her and they sat in silence or she would break, first to speak.

The more she thought about it, the more Adelaide’s words rang in her skull and the more her head hurt.

 _Well, shit_ , she thought sombrely. Even if they could ever manage to develop… whatever they had into something that had the bones of a romantic relationship, it wouldn’t be accepted, either by Joseph or others. They might have put up with the small shows of affection the two indulged in without being aware of even doing so, but to be open about it? She highly doubted it. What could she say?  _Hey, Father! I know we were all trying to kill each other a while back and all, but it’s all in the past and great news! I’m shacking up with your younger brother._

Now,  _that_  would make for an interesting conversation.

The daylight dripped away, sun dropping further and fading to night and Aoibh’s thoughts turned sluggish. For all her worries, for all her doubts, fears, all that plagued, she felt calmer than she had in months. Her acceptance of her feelings had led way to allowing her to assess her other problems, such as whether he was only attracted to her sexually, or it really was as Adelaide said and that his feelings were akin to hers.

But, she supposed, both led to the same destination of them ending up together, one way or another.

So, he comes to her in the middle of the night.

And she does not turn him away.

She’s half asleep, drifting in and out and finding that the night has not given away to day, but she feels warm, safe beneath the cocoon of blankets she has wrapped around her. Her previous troubles seem so small and she pulls the blankets tight around her, content and happy enough in the moment of half-awake consciousness before she hears the door creak open. It sends a jolt through her heart and her body is heavy with sleep, eyes bleary as she drinks in the brief dash of golden orange light sinking in through the crack in the door before the room turns to dark again and she can hear him as he makes his way to the bed, boots gone, breath quiet.

The bed sinks behind her and Aoibh turns, still wrapped in her blankets and she blinks away the tiredness to see John sitting here, clearly having risen from his own bed with his hair dishevelled and wearing nothing more than a tee shirt and a pair of boxers. He sits there, elbows on knees and hands clasped as his blue eyes watch her shift and turn so that she’s lying on her back, neck turned towards him.

“The guards…?”

“Gone. There’s no one around,” he replies, whispering through the darkness.  _No one important_ , she can hear underlining his words. A hum leaves her as the sleepiness begins to slink away, hand reaching up rub at her eye, the clouded, grey moon’s light barely making it through the window to cast some brightness in the room. A yawn is about to escape her, but she smothers it and she hears him give amused huff, making her peer at him through narrowed eyes.

“What?” she asks, voice cracking and husky and he gives a small shake of his head. He reaches up and his hand cups her cheek, thumb brushing over her cheek bone and she does not bother to stop herself leaning into it. 

He doesn’t respond to her question and she stops another yawn breaking through before her hand grabs a hold of his arm, pulling it towards her so he has no option but to lie down on the bed with her. It’s a silent command as she wraps his arm around her, the blankets rising and falling as he moves in behind her, burning her back and tightening his grip. His breath is hot on the back of her neck, beard scratching at the skin as she feels something she knows to be his lips pressing against it.

She no longer bothers to wonder how she ended up lying in bed with John Seed with his arms around her, lips just barely brushing over her neck. It’s much too late to ponder on such things and she would rather much focus on him.

And they lie like that for a moment, wrapped up in each other, her hand moving to cover the one he had resting on her stomach and briefly lets the notion that they’re somewhere far away flit through her mind, the two of them two different people who managed to find each other.  Then, she turns her head back slightly, making them face each other and Aoibh finds her voice through the darkness.

“John?”

He brushed his nose long the length of her throat, making her shiver. “Yes?”

She says the words before they can die on her, withering on her tongue. “Kiss me.”

For a moment, he hesitates, and she think he’s going to sneer at her cruelly, but then he uses the hand on her stomach to turn her over on her back, the other going to brush over her cheeks and into her hairs. She waits with bated breath, eyelashes fluttering before his mouth crashes against her own.

It isn’t gentle, no remnants at whatever softness that had been in their earlier one lingering. It’s harsh, quick, hungry and wanting her, needing her. She barely lets out a gasp before he drinks it up, drawing open her mouth and the moan that leaves her when his tongue brushes over her own is akin to a mewl. She fists his shirt in her hand, the other on the back of his neck as they kick the blankets down, not caring for modesty. Their lips move against one another, fast and leaving her mouth swollen, red, but she likes it, aches for more. He moves from being beside her so that he’s above her, using his knee to open up her legs so that he can rest between them, the weight of him being something she quite likes just a bit too much.

Their kiss turns more desperate before he suddenly pulls away, leaving her confused before she feels his mouth on the curve of her jaw, on her throat, sucking on the skin there, rolling his tongue over and over, the groan leaving her soft and withering. Her chest heaves, heart racing as her hand rushes through the strands of his hair, trying to find something to keep her grounded. His name leaves her mouth in broken whispers, afraid to go louder but it doesn’t matter because as long as he can hear her calling his name, she doesn’t care who else might hear.

Unconsciously, she raises her hips to roll against him and she can feel him, the hardness tenting in his boxers and he moans at the action and she makes to do it again before he pushes her hips down back onto the mattress, grip like steel.

“Careful there,  _Deputy_ ,” he hisses, voice husky as he settles himself down on her ache, making her squirm for any friction but it’s no use. He holds her tight and she can’t move against it, can’t break free and the frustration builds in her. She can feel his fingers creeping up her night shirt, heat rushing beneath her skin and he couldn’t be more torturous in his pace before he cups her breast, her back arching to further press for more contact.

“John, please,” she’s reduced to begging but whatever shame she should have felt had left her long ago. And she can feel his smirk as he rolls her breast in his hand, thumb brushing over the hardened pebble as his mouth makes its way down even further but he can’t continue because of the ridiculous night shirt she was dressed in.

Annoyed, Aoibh pushes her hands between them, grabbing a hold of the wretched material and she feels his hands on hers, helping her tear it off of her body, the rush of coldness brief and sharp. He tugs it up off over her head, strands of her hair falling on her face, a mess on the pillow, as she watches him stare at her bare body, heaving chest, save for the modest panties that had been put on her and the clean bandages that were wrapped around her. Being naked before him makes that burn beneath her stomach flare and her eyes follow him, a smirk on the corners of his mouth as he runs his lips from her collar bone, down to the dip between her breasts, the tip of his tongue leaving flaming trails that reduces her to nothing, wilting away. John pauses at the valley between her breasts, kissing it as his hands make their down to her hips, reaching behind to squeeze her ass then trailing up to her upper back, arching it up off the mattress as he took her in his mouth, nipping and swirling the sensitive nub with his tongue.

She hopes he was right in saying that there was no one around because the moans leaving her are becoming louder and louder. She knots her fingers in his hair again, rough and pulling while the other was finding its way below his shirt, nails dragging along skin and leaving pinkish lanes. He rolls his length along her, tearing a gasp from her mouth as he moves to take her other breast in his mouth, teeth taking her hardened nipple; frustration building inside of her, she dips her hands down further and pulls at the hem of his shirt, making him move away from her as they work together to free him from the hindrance.

She can see him, see him completely, all the scars and tattoos splashed on his chest, fingers running along to soak up all they could, tumbling over raised carvings etched into him, his sins. John makes no move as she presses her lips to his throat, teeth grazing and nails digging into him, one on his back and the other sneaking down further and further, to where their bodies met, and she finds him, palm pressed against his hard erection through the thinness of his boxers, making John hiss as she gave her own smirk. She teases him, slow and excruciating, until he took her wrist, pulling it to pin it beside her head.

“Bold girl,” he murmured, making her breath catch at how husky, deep, his voice was next to her ear. It turns her stomach inside, flipping at the words and he rolls against her again, her hips rising to meet him, to reduce the ache by any minor fraction but it’s not enough. Aoibh grabs him, bringing his lip back to hers with such desperation, fiery and waking with a vengeance after being denied for so long and she grasps his lip between her teeth, making him release a sound that reminded her of a growl, rumbling deep in his chest. Her lips curls upwards, hinting at a smile, with his chest flush against her, leaving her panting, gasping for more.

“John,” she whispered, words breaking into raspy wisps, his hands at her hips, wrapping fingers around the band of her underwear. The bruising force of his mouth leaves her own again and his fingers skim around her panties, sneaking in beneath the thin, soaked material and she feels him, dipping into her wetness. She gives a cracked cry, eyes squeezing shut as she buries her face against his neck, being reduced to a mess as he circled that small bundles of nerves that wracked her body. 

“Yes?” he teases, dipping further, watching her with amusement as the sweat on her body gleams, short, shallow waves of air from her rushing over him as she hides in the crook of his neck, not trusting herself enough as she feels him pause in his movement on her clit, making her almost whimper. She’s dripping, positively soaked through her underwear and she can’t take it anymore.

“ _Please.”_

John shakes his head and pulls his hand from her, taking her away from the crook of his neck and making her look at him, cupping her face, the wetness on his fingers glistening and making her turn red. “Say it,  _Deputy.”_

She takes a moment to quieten her ragged breathing, eyes fluttering as she felt herself becoming somewhat shy under his piercing gaze, blue eyes sharp and searching for what she knew he wanted. He chin tips forward, bringing their lips closer and just about touching, but not quite. She was too far gone to care about the consequences now. “Fuck me,  _Daddy.”_

She hears his stilted breath, the smile on her face curving upwards as she meets his eyes, completely unabashed and unashamed, the intensity of his stare sharp and digging into her. She doesn’t have time to gauge his reaction before she’s pushed further onto the bed, mouth ravaging her poor, bruised one, both of their hands working to tear the other free of their remaining clothes. He all but rips her panties down her legs, throwing him onto the ground without much care as she pushes down his boxers, brushing over his hips, legs, everything else she wanted to explore but that was for another time; for now, all she was focused on was having John Seed fuck her into oblivion.

He settles between her legs and she can feel him brushing against her wetness, the hardness of his cock making her ache for more. She wraps her arms around him, nails digging into his shoulder blades as he slips a hand beneath one of her legs, crooking it back towards her stomach and the other is entangled in her hair, making her wish he would pull on it as he had earlier.

“ _Yes_ ,” she croaks out before he’s in her, filling her so suddenly it makes her moan, a pinch of pain briefly making her scrunch her face up before it’s gone, leaving her writhing beneath him, and John above her, panting.

She doesn’t have to tell him to keep going, doesn’t have to be reduced to begging as he begins to thrust inside her, pushing her leg he has in his hand back further and it allows for him to brush against something in her, eliciting soft sounds from her, her own hips rolling to meet his. His hand in her hair moves, brushing over her cheek and then it’s on her throat, thumb flicking over and resting beneath her jaw and it only makes her that bit more wanting, the mewls and moans falling past her lips as he applies a small amount of pressure to his grip on her neck.

He isn’t gentle, thrusting into her, but it isn’t rough, isn’t hurting and she doesn’t bother to hide the cries leaving her, a mixture of his name, curses,  _yes, harder_ ,  _John, please, John._ His hold on her throat is what makes her feel close, closer than she should have been. His grunts fill her ears, her leg aching from its position, but it felt  _so good_ and she doesn’t want him to stop, is begging him not to stop as he thrusts in side of her, quick and harsh and making her see stars.

She can barely think, can barely hear beyond the sound of her half-broken words, hair sticking to her body as she feels her stomach tighten, knotting itself as he murmured against her skin, her name, growls and shattering groans. She doesn’t think much about them, can’t think because he’s fucking all thoughts she could have from her mind and she doesn’t ever want him to stop. That coil in her stomach tightens itself, strangling in its actions and she’s close, his thrusts becoming quicker and more brutish and she turns her head, lips brushing against his cheek, his grip on her throat that bit tighter, but not tight enough for her liking. She can hear him muttering her name, over and over, her own variation a mix of his name, of  _yes_. And she’s so close, so, so close, near the edge and her nails are digging into him, eyes shut to the point dots are bursting and dancing in the darkness.  

 _John, John, John, yes, John,_ is all she can stay, over and over and she lets her head fall onto the pillow, hair splayed out and catching on her skin and she’s there, one last one and she hears him,  _Aoibh, Aoibh, Aoibh, I love you, Aoibh_ , and she doesn’t think because next minute he thrusts into her and she cries out, shuddering and shaking from the wave of her orgasm, breath stuck in her throat as pleasure wracked her body, leaving her a wet, warm mess.

Her arms become weak and she recollects her thoughts, her mind that’s scattered from her. She’s tired, bones like jelly and it’s not long after John follows her orgasm with his own, but suddenly, he’s no longer between her, in her, and Aoibh feels it, hot on her stomach, staining her bandages, but she doesn’t find it within her to care anymore, her body spent and exhaustion taking over her. He lay on her, panting, and her hands are around John, in his hair, unconsciously running through the strands, revelling in the comforting weight of him on top of her. She’s covered in sweat, his and hers, and his cum on her is cooling, the room not as warm and stifling as it had been. With an almost reluctant heave, John pushes himself off of her, lying down beside her, the blankets down around their ankles and the only sound being their heavy breathing.

 She’s not sure what to say to him, what could she say?  _That was fun, we should do it again sometime!_ She longs for a shower, a bath, anything but there’s no energy left in her to do so, opting to remain lying tucked into his side in bed, head resting on his arm under her that curves down over her shoulder, his thumb moving slow and steady back and forth on her arm.

Well.

_Looks like I owe Adelaide and Sharky money._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Key:  
> Aoibh: pronounced "Eve", a traditional Irish name.  
> Ceann cipín: Irish (Gaeilge) for feather head
> 
> \---
> 
> i dont know ok this took 3 days to write n i can't write dialogue or smut or anything for Shit so here's like 14k of wet Trash i guess soz
> 
> i hope ur happy ubisoft u made us Thirst for cult leaders smh
> 
> anyways, thanks for suffering through this i guess
> 
> please don’t hesitate to leave a comment n all that jazz !! [finger guns]


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